


you're playing your best role,

by eymelee



Series: Goliath [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: #31DaysOfApex, Cute hours are also here?, Fluff and Angst, Modeling Clay, My Revenant is softer than others, Other, Panic Attacks, Sad hours are here, Simulacra Panic Attacks???, Still trying to grasp these characters, these are so short, this first chapter is basically fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eymelee/pseuds/eymelee
Summary: 31DaysOfApex! Each day is written around the specific prompt from the official list on twitter.RevHound-centric with some chapters to be focused on the individual characters plus other additional legends.Hopefully updated every week.UPDATED prompts 2-12 -- 16/07/2020.Unfortunately, life happened, updating every week is impossible.Probably one last batch to come in August, when I catch up on all the prompts. Until then, enjoy all the RevHound content I could come up with!
Relationships: Bloodhound/Revenant (Apex Legends)
Series: Goliath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811590
Comments: 25
Kudos: 40





	1. Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ExasperantMadman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExasperantMadman/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"imprint of you_   
>  _glowing against me,_   
>  _burnt-out match in a dark room."_
> 
> Margaret Atwood, You Are Happy; ‘Memory’

With each reboot, an additional piece would get added to Revenant’s thousand-piece memory puzzle. Until recently, he hasn’t been able to see the bigger picture, only the individual parts left unconnected, with each revive; with each new life, each new lie. 

The pieces roll in the back of his mind, like a silent first-person movie. Sometimes, they pop in his mind one at a time, innocent snippets of past lives but other times, the dam breaches and hundreds of previous deaths flood him at once. During these moments, Revenant ceases both his body and mental faculties and tucks himself in the nearest corner, waiting for it to pass.

It’s to the simulacrum’s advantage that he’s in Bloodhound’s company when a certain circuit snaps as they spar together in the exercise room, practicing their hand-to-hand. His partner is brutal, dodging and parring most of his vicious blows and elegantly putting him in his place. A well-placed kick trips Revenant and his heavy metal chassis collapses on the soft flooring. 

He's not sure what exactly triggers the memory. One moment he's flat on his back on the ground in the training gym, neon light reflecting in his glassy eyes, the next he's looking up at Gridiron's parent star, deadly radiation raining down on him and his assailant, who stands tall over Revenant and points his RE-45 at the sim. 

"Die, _sabakawala_ ," his attacker mumbles through the blood caking his lower lip, due to Revenant's fist connecting with his face earlier in their fight.

The simulacrum wishes their roles were reversed, as icy fear tendrils its way into his body when the trigger is pulled and a hole is put through his skull. 

He jolts upright, erratic light flashing in his golden mechanical pupils.

It takes him about half a minute to refocus his retinal array and make out his reflection in Bloodhound's goggles, his partner kneeling close to his vulnerable form. In an attempt to calm his system down, his eyes track and cling onto each bolt, each tube and piece of enforced glass of the hunter’s respirator. 

After a brief moment, their gloved hand settles on his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw. There’s a certain intensity coming from Blóð, unreadable because of their heavy-duty gas mask. But the simulacrum knows their companion and can recognize the emotion as genuine concern. 

If tears could spring from Revenant’s steel eyes, they would pour so much he would turn to rust.

He would cry not because of the guilt or regret, or of the innumerable violent deaths which he’s cursed to remember, but because of the decades of memory pieces that are his alone to put together, to bear. 

“Easy there, _ástvinur_ ,” Bloodhound murmurs as they shift to sit cross-legged in front of Revenant. The sim moves his metallic legs apart to make space for his companion, hands reaching for the hunters’. 

Blóð does not let him interlace their fingers at once, instead orderly removing their leather gloves and setting them aside. Only then they reach for his fingers, their warmth seeping through the simulacrum’s over-sensitive heat sensors. 

This time, Bloodhound takes to rubbing his silvery fingers, caressing each knuckle, each smooth piece of steel. Soft huffs escape them in delight and Revenant does not want to ever forget this moment, doesn’t want to forget his companion, glowing against him.

He won’t, he promises himself as much, no matter how many more years will pass.

The numerous bleak memory pieces littering his core are to be removed one by one, to make room for new ones, brighter and gentler. Revenant lets his metallic lids cover his eyes and allows the flashback of a distant death fade into nothingness, only to replace it with a new image of his beloved hunter. 

Bloodhound being proud of a successful game plan. Bloodhound being amused at their teammate’s shenanigans. The hunter hopeful, serene, in awe, in love. 

He casts away the aged memory pieces, one at a time, and gives way for the ones he wants to eternalize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ástvinur = beloved
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Blood

"Good work, new Kill Leader," Ajay says through the comm while she scales the roof of a house for better sniping positioning. 

It's the least she can do, considering her bloodthirsty team is going ham in the murky waters of the river. Revenant, as she mostly expected once his Death Totem is planted, is slaying enemies left and right, the screams resulting from the carnage echoing in the valley. He easily executes the previous Champion, taking his sweet time with his torturing.

What Lifeline can do is provide cover for her squadmate and further engage any potential enemy snipers. 

Curiously, there's no one. _Strangely_ , there's no one?

"Hound, ya hear me?" Ajay is trying to reach her third teammate, but her only answer is the pained cry of an opponent, begging for her life as Bloodhound is probably feeding her bullets for dinner. 

"I am copying, Lifeline," the hunter answers, voice muffled by their respirator. 

"I'm sure yuh having a blast takin' down people behind the lines, but your Walking Dead is getting surrounded by three, as we speak," she says, training her rifle on a crouching Bangalore who is approaching the house in which Revenant is currently baiting people.

Two grunts sound in her comm, acknowledging her. She can make out Bloodhound's swift figure leaping from the elevated roof of a hill house, right in the middle of the present team in the perimeter. 

The hunter is ruthless, tactfully dodging and taking down enemies, switching between guns and reloading at the most opportune times. There's nothing Ajay can do, because before she knows it, Bloodhound has gone solo against three enemies, won, and stole the title of Kill Leader from her other teammate. 

She’s watching them recharge their shields through her scope when the door of the river house, blocked by a stack of death boxes, gets kicked down furiously. Revenant rushes over the bodies of the fallen, clearly misinformed and late to the party. Ajay fears he’s about to snap at Bloodhound for having more kills but once the simulacrum notices the hunter, he… calms down.

It’s Bloodhound who reacts wildly, drawing their shotgun and pointing it at their metallic teammate. Ajay furrows her brows, confused about what exactly is going on. Have the two of them been fighting?

“C’mon _bredren_ , let it be,” she tries to pacify Hound, but instead Revenant’s voice booms in her earpiece.

“Stop that, it’s me,” the simulacrum snarls but doesn’t pull out his gun to defend himself, interestingly. “Blóð, can you even see with all that blood over your visor?” 

She can’t exactly make out how mucky Bloodhound’s mask is, but she discerns them trying to wipe it off with their jacket’s sleeve, unsuccessfully. Revenant shakes his head and steps into the other’s personal space, grabbing one of his crimson cloths and scrubbing the hunter’s goggles.

When he deems it clean enough and safe-to-fight, the simulacrum’s long pointing finger playfully taps on Bloodhound’s goggles. In reply, the hunter takes to rubbing Revenant’s forearm, head tilted to the side.

“Ain’t ya sappy lovebirds. Grab gear and let’s keep movin’,” she orders, moving in towards her team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revenant used his loincloth to scrub Bloodhound's goggles and if that ain't love then...


	3. Mercy

And he says, _grant me mercy, will you, dearest?_

Picture this. A cozy cottage built in a village tucked in greenery, in turn, surrounded by woods of metal. The proximate sun reflects in the giant steel structures, bathing the tiny natural paradise in light. There's a miniature cascade flowing into the cool pond next to the house, the smooth sound of water blending with the chirps of woodpeckers. 

Here are the tenants of the secluded household, one mortal and one not, as the world around them. They’ve been here for a couple of summers, leaving only when absolutely necessary, the clumsy vegetable garden and water well suffice for them both. A raven house has been pinned in the trunk of a gigantic pine tree, its own residents frolicking on the cottage’s roof. 

The human of the couple is spread on the sun-warmed porch, back propped against the wall, basking in the slight breeze coming from between the trees. There’s a sort of breathing device fixed to their face, different from the one they would normally wear. Their hands are aged, skin thinner and almost translucent but they still reach out to the other.

The machine of the couple is kneeling next to his love, running his solid fingers through their hair. He says something of utmost insignificance, which in turn makes his partner softly laugh, then, painfully succumb into a coughing fit. The ravens drop on the porch with an audible flutter of their black wings, visibly worried. They are allowed to stay. 

Because the corvids are here to pay their respects to their keeper, as they are taking their last breaths. Animals recognize death quicker.

There’s a smile in the human’s eyes as they lock their gaze with their beloved. Their robotic companion doesn’t look away, but all the same presses a revolver into their hand, a silent plea for an end to decades of suffering and just a few years of the contrary.

A frown forms on the human’s face, but they oblige, using their last remaining strength to lift a deadly metallic weapon, to tear down another. A second passes, then another, then aim is taken and the bullet fired. 

_Grant me mercy, will you, dearest?_

The bang reverberates in their tiny paradise, scaring the fauna away. 

Picture this. There’s a person fading away, tucked in the everlasting nature, surrounded by the steel pile which used to be their lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad hours


	4. Prize

“The Allfather will gift us today,” Bloodhound says, grabbing a low branch to support themselves in their endeavor. Perfectly ripe prunes await at the top of the tree, glistening in the autumn sunlight.

It’s a small prize for their team, mostly for the excitable engineer girl they are always pleased to work with. 

Wattson is tinkering with one of her fences, completely immersed in pulling and connecting thin wires. She’s taking cover next to an open loot bin but there’s no real danger on this corner of the Sniper’s Ridge. She’s at ease, and so is Bloodhound, for they know they can take a break without any enemy team pushing on them. 

It’s because Revenant is crouch-running up and down the plateau, checking and double-checking all ziplines leading to his team. His Mastiff shotgun is already drawn, just in case. 

Bloodhound chuckles and hurries to pick some sweet plums, to avoid their companion snapping at them for not doing their job. They can’t help it, for the Allfather surely has pointed this fruit tree to them for a reason. 

After having gathered some fruit in a make-shift pouch, the hunter drops to the ground with a thud, which has Revenant look in their direction. The simulacrum regards them for a few seconds, an imperceptible tilt of his head denoting his confusion.

“The gods have blessed us all today,” they call out, tossing one of the fruits to their teammate. They don’t wait for a reaction and instead, they hike to where Wattson is sitting cross-legged on the yellowed grass. 

The young félagi fighter perks up at the sound of their footfall, a smile already forming on her lips. There are sparks coming out from one of her gloved fingers, a tiny sharp tool connecting with the base of her electric pole.

“You’re back! Anyone approaching?” she pipes up, collecting her tools and herself to get ready to fight.

“The battle shall begin when the gods will it,” the Hunter answers, lowering themselves on one knee. “For now, blessings have been cast upon us. _Taka_ these.”

They unload their pouch into Natalie’s open hands as she squeaks in delight at the sudden gift. The engineer lays down the prunes on the ground except for two, which she carefully wipes on her jacket. Then, she brings one to her mouth, taking a large bite and contentedly humming in response. 

Bloodhound laughs again, pleased to have brought such joy to their friend.

Except, Wattson stretches out her arm, offering the second clean plum to the hunter. It’s such a wonderful gesture that they accept it, chest bursting with thankfulness. Their finger hooks around their gas mask, temporarily shifting it on their chin. Then, they join Wattson in enjoying what the Allfather has offered them.

While munching, from the corner of their eye, they can see Revenant sitting at the entrance of the Ridge, also cross-legged but instead of eating - a deed he’s unable to do anymore - the simulacrum is methodically carving out pieces of the fruit, which he flicks at an overly-excited Artur. The hunter giggles briefly, then continues eating their spontaneous snack.

The Allfather has truly graced them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to HC all legends on a picnic


	5. Family

It's family they all ask after. 

Revenant doesn’t understand, knows he’ll probably never. 

The Death Totem is a tricky talent to spin, but the simulacrum has had enough time to pull the most intricate of its strings. One tiny skill he’s learned is to project other people’s regret in the form of delusions through the totem. It has made torturing his victims so satisfying. 

It doesn’t feel like so when the Sergeant - who, despite her bossy attitude, has been nothing but helpful to him on the field - has asked him to allow her to enter the Shadow World and construct an image of her late brother. 

Not dead, she insists, but Revenant can nevertheless feel her sorrow.

He stubbornly accepts her request but hovers nearby as the soldier stands with a hand on the bone of the Totem, gaze vacant. Whatever she visualizes, it springs tears from the corner of her eyes, which she doesn’t let fall. 

Word of his particular ability spreads and the simulacrum bumps into Wattson in the post-game quarters, the engineer stuttering through her request. Revenant sighs, or attempts to - that human habit still lingering - but indulges the girl, for she had brought their team to victory that day.

He tugs her further inside the room and after a pattern of summoning hand signs, his Death Totem rises.

Wattson spends plenty of time away in the imaginary world until Dr. Caustic stomps into the room, clearly upset at what’s going on. He plucks the girl from her daydream, which he immediately regrets as she begins sniffling, a pathetic sound only young children are capable of.

With an icy glare from the older Legend, they both exit, leaving Revenant to replay the girl’s crying fit again and again. He decides he doesn’t like it. 

Later that day, he’s lounging on the floor of Hound’s quarters, using the other’s outstretched legs as a pillow. The hunter is indulging in a book, a cheap antique paperback they’ve found in a market in Gaea once. 

“Hey, do you want to see that uncle of yours again?” Revenant inquires out of the blue, the thoughts of Bangalore and Wattson swiveling in his mind. 

Bloodhound, to their credit, doesn’t even flinch at the question. They merely put down the book and begin rubbing their fingers on the simulacrum’s forehead plate. They are aware that Revenant’s most complex wiring is located just behind it, and it seems the reason for the act. 

“Artur has died a hero and I do know that he now dines in Valhalla, so calling upon him for the sole reason to indulge myself into a moment… I’d rather not,” they answer, calm seeping in their voice. 

It’s such an honest answer that it takes the simulacrum by surprise yet, Revenant realizes through Bloodhound’s words that people process remorse differently - and he, too, needs to find his own course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on another fic I read, similar to this one but it was with Mirage. Can't for the life of me remember who wrote it aaaaaaaAAAAAA


	6. Noise

Bloodhound summoned him, excitement weaved into their voice. They had been stationed for refuel on Gaea for the past couple of days, the Legends being given free rein to roam around the orderly wilderness - so long as they return to the home ship in time for departure. 

The hunter had been delighted at the chance to immerse themselves in nature and had taken to exploring at any possible chance. 

Revenant answered his teammate’s summons and groggily made his way down the ship’s ramp, then on the installed tents on the planet, then, further, into the uninhabited bushes and tall trees, rising out of the earth to meet the sky.

He walked and walked, the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves his only companion. The simulacrum’s HUD displayed Bloodhound’s exact coordinates but it did not make the trek easier.

After a while, the crunch of twigs and layers of dead grass became blended with another type of noise. A certain humming was in the air - similar to a faulty radio receiver. The undergrowth revealed the hunter’s silhouette as Revenant came to a stop.

“What is that signal?” he asked, looking for an electrical device.

“That’s the boys at work,” Bloodhound answered him, pointing with their thumb to a particular box, its yellow color faded by the years, a whirl of activity flying nearby. “Those are bees.”

Of course, he knew what they were.

“What are they doing here?” 

“Well, they are making honey,” the hunter beamed, sticking the tip of their knife inside and almost as carefully, pulling it out. The blade was covered in golden honey and Bloodhound did not waste a second in sampling it. 

They quietly squealed at the taste, a sound which Revenant was going to replay in his head a lot.

“How is it?” the simulacrum regarded the hive with apprehension. 

“It’s lilac, considering the flowers are in bloom right now,” they revealed, carefully savoring it again. “The Allfather has graced us.”

“Huh, I wonder how far they’ll go to do their jobs,” said Revenant, sticking their long finger in the bee house, a few bees buzzing around it.

“Some say a bee will cross an ocean for a flower,” Bloodhound answered, coming closer and bumping shoulders with the other. “Though I’ve never known one to do so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the astounding bees scene in A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles!


	7. Mask

When Hound is on the opposing team, there’s a rule that dictates how Revenant will play the game. As soon as he spots the hunter, his own hunt begins, for them, them alone. 

So naturally, he abandons his team in the middle of a fight, opting to crouch-walk towards where he has seen Bloodhound’s head peeking at the ongoing brawl. The simulacrum stealthily approaches the rocky formation, pulling out his R-99 in order to burst the other to pieces. 

Except, when he turns the corner and aims, a less bulky figure has a Mastiff trained on him. Revenant freezes, as he’s met with Hound’s typical gas mask and headpiece but an incredibly impertinent voice sounds from behind it. 

“That’s a win for me, _amigo_!” Octane says as he pulls the trigger. 

Needless to say, he’s fuming in the post-game quarters as the real Bloodhound and the idiot of a daredevil cackle at his misfortune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Octane and Bloodhound have a surprising friendship based on pulling pranks.


	8. Healing

He had known only to inflict damage. The swift assassin, the efficient torturer, the violent mass murderer. For decades, the simulacrum had been used for various purposes, each and single one of them bloodshed related.

When Revenant had first come across a downed teammate in the Apex Games, he was baffled at the victim who would repeatedly request his help over their shared comm link. 

But what was he supposed to do? Surely, he had an array of healing items in this backpack, but all were meant for himself. 

He hovered nearby, using the knocked down squadmate to bait and shoot down more enemies. Time was running out for the other as a pool of blood was spreading wider and wider. 

The simulacrum had almost moved on from the spot when his third teammate swore incomprehensibly and shouted in his earpiece. 

"On _muh_ way! Get me cover," the legend codenamed Lifeline slid past flying bullets and reached for her patient. "Healin' ya, stand still."

Revenant had been hypnotized. The way she so naturally helped the other back up, further using her drone to patch up any remaining wounds, an encouraging smile playing on her face. The easiness with which she both treated afflictions, and later in the match, inflicted harm. 

He was but a simulacrum, an amalgamation of metal and wires, meant to only kill. But Revenant became interested in it, the novelty healing offered with its slow, deliberate rhythm and thoughtful study of each small choice. 

His hand would slip on the to-be-familiar syringe, which he would forcefully stab his to-be-companions with. In the end, healing did have common traits with killing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revenant stabbing a guy in the eye with an injection: Is this healing?


	9. Weapon

I have been my enemy's weapon for at least three decades.

If they ordered, I'd execute - an efficient blade which would always eliminate its targets. There had been little room for anything else. 

I have been altered greatly as a weapon. 

The majority of me was flesh, but bit by bit, lifetime by lifetime, bones have been replaced by steel bars, skin by metal panes. Internal organs have been scooped out when they failed. I have lost my eyes, instead, given glowy orbits that have provided me more information than my nature-issued ones.

I have maimed others, for others’ sake, for too long.

Until I happened to stumble upon my self-awareness. Little did I know that when I have pulled out that piece of elevator stuck in my neck, I have grabbed myself as a weapon, and placed myself in my own palm. 

I am my own blade, deadly and efficient, serving only myself. 

So why does it feel pointless? There has been plenty of me produced on a conveyor belt, ready to be used once I break. Reload and go, reload and go, but this time loaded with a consciousness. Why am I brought back if I am my own weapon, and I do not want to start anew? Who gave you the right to return me if I do not want to?

I ruminate over these questions, possible answers. I turn them over and over my head and I wonder, isn’t it better to have someone else decide?

So when the little thief drowns me with hundreds of my copies and doesn’t give up, I wonder, isn’t it better if she is the one to finally shatter me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more sad boy hours


	10. Truth

_The truth will set you free, but first, it will piss you off._

He emerges from the foamy seawater in a brand new chassis, deep green algae sticking to his metal sheets. It's in the way he carries himself, movements awkward and abrupt, that Bloodhound knows something is wrong with the simulacrum.

Countless agitated nights spent closely have been enough for Revenant to somehow begin to put his trust in them and Bloodhound cannot hide that they too have been trying to sway the other, to get to know him better, to help. 

Still, no amount of time together could have prepared the hunter for a heartsore Revenant. 

“What has happened, _félagi_ fighter?” they call out, worry weaved in their voice.

If Revenant has heard them, he doesn’t show it. Instead, the two-meter simulacrum strolls out of the water, feet thumping on the sharp rocks of the shore. He approaches the boulder on which Bloodhound has perched themselves on earlier to keep watch. The unfamiliarity of his movements screams danger for the hunter, as they take a defensive stance. 

Revenant halts his advance, Bloodhound stops as well and it seems like the sea prevents its waves from forming. All is still, the hunter counting the breaths they are taking.

Then a wretched cry escapes the simulacrum, intense and drawn-out, enough to scare a lone Flyer from its resting place. He doubles over, forehead hitting the ground with a loud sound while his impossibly tight fist repeatedly hits the shore. Humanely, he’s trembling, the vibrations of his steel body resounding in the air. 

Logically, there would be no reason for Bloodhound to worry that the other could hurt himself, but rationality is the last thing that the Allfather graces the hunter with as they drop to their knees next to their companion, desperately attempting to calm him.

“The Gods have brought you back to me, _vinur_ , please, do not weep,” Bloodhound tries to comfort him in the most gentle voice they can muster. It does appear to affect Revenant, but not in the intended way.

The simulacrum snaps his head up, fixing the hunter with his glimmering golden eyes. He holds the stare long enough and Bloodhound has to mutter a small prayer under their breath. 

“Do… do you think…,” he stutters, but the words he seemingly wants out don’t come. “I am not _weeping_ because I’ve been dropped hundreds of meters in the water. I’m goddamn furious because I am here!”

He stands tall, turning around to look back at the sea. Bloodhound, still on their knees, attempts to make sense of what the simulacrum is saying. As on cue, Revenant steps aside and clears the hunter’s view of the shallow water. There, washing up on the beach, are tens of Revenants, empty brand-new shells ready to be used with possibly even more surfacing in the coming hours.

It’s a truth that stings, considerably, as a wave of conflicted emotions washes over Bloodhound as well.

More silence follows as Revenant takes to pacing the spot next to the hunter, never ceasing to watch the sea. Eventually, the sky darkens and the ‘rescue’ team descends the slope, keeping their distance from the very-much-still-active simulacrum. Bloodhound rises to their feet, immediately reaching for the other’s hand. 

They are regarded for a while - less intense this time - when Bloodhound offers.

“There’s still much for me to meditate over and understand, but if you are in need of someone to speak with, you know where to find me. The Allfather will guide you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MYSTERIOUS 5,000 REVENANTS WASH UP ON THE SHORE OF KING'S CANYON - YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED [not clickbait]


	11. Shield

The night shrouds King’s Canyon in its darkness as the collective shadows from deceased Legends come to life. Bloodhound is well, really, crouched in a house in Skull Town, shotgun trained on the staircase, finger trembling on the trigger. They mutter a grounding prayer, hoping none of what’s currently happening is true. 

“But you, Allfather, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high,” they shift their position to check the second-floor entrance of the house. There are shadows running around in the sand dunes, their footfalls torture to the hunter’s ears. 

They don’t hear him approach, crouching as he has been. Only, they meet him face-first, a towering shadow holding himself different from the others; this one appears as a God, in His own ghost world.

“Aww, no time for rest. The Shadow Squad could use another,” he mocks, a lengthy finger pointing at them accusingly. 

Bloodhound acts swiftly, turning around and firing their gun into the intruder. For a brief moment they believe it’s over, the enemy down, but as soon as that thought forms, the shadow phases in a streak of red light, surrounding and unfurling himself behind the hunter. 

Then, by the time Bloodhound turns their head to look their nightmare in the eyes, shadowy claws reach for them and snap their neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I was writing this and then the quest dropped and this failed to receive a proper ending. Some days be like that huh
> 
> Based on Psalm 3:3


	12. Ruins

“Don’t laugh at me, hunter,” Revenant snarled, glaring over his shoulder at his amused partner. 

"It's slightly impossible _ástin_ , for your creation is so outright… creative," they snickered, observing the scattered pieces of a failed statuette. 

It had been meant as an exercise, to direct certain overflowing emotions towards a creative output. Revenant had been mostly compliant, joining in Bloodhound's artistic shenanigans and actually finding himself slightly more relaxed. 

They had been working on the sim's 'anger' for a whole session, using modeling clay stolen from Dr. Caustic's lab-room. They both wondered why the scientist had it in the first place. 

After Bloodhound's brief demonstration on how to use the clay, Revenant took to watching the other work their fingers in the tan material, shaping something similar to a Prowler. The hunter explained they were approaching the 'fear' emotion, which apparently they had long conquered. 

The simulacrum had been next as he let himself get lost in the process. Something similar to a daze laid itself on Revenant and by the time he knew it, the modeling clay took a distinctive shape. 

It was the silhouette of a towering miniature simulacrum, himself.

That's when Revenant came to his senses, clasping his destructive hands over his creation and promptly reducing it to pieces, the ruins of it dropping on the ground. 

He expected Bloodhound to be upset at his lack of self-control, even disapproving of his whole existence, but the hunter had just laughed, a sweet melody filtering through their respirator. Needless to say, Revenant calmed down on the spot. 

Maybe the clay modeling did not work out his anger, but a certain someone's presence did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revenant has a Potter's fingers


End file.
